Free Sins 03 - Sins of Treachery by J.F. Penn

Sins of Treachery
    The priest intoned the Canticle Benedictus as the coffin was lowered into the hardened ground, frozen by the long winter. Simon watched as the solid oak casket descended, his eyes drawn to the gold tetragrammaton on the lid, his grandfather’s final prayer. A silence hung in the air before Simon bent to pick up a handful of damp earth to throw on the coffin, but as he did so, he heard a thud as someone else performed the family honour for the dead. Simon straightened quickly, and when he saw who it was, the soil spilled from his hand.
    Gestas, his errant twin, had finally returned, but only now, after the death of the man who had raised them. Simon felt a stab of anger at how Gest had stolen this final sacred moment from him, and a deep resentment for his years of desertion. Try as he might, Simon had never been able to take the place of the favored twin with his grandfather, in spite of his labour in the pursuit of the Great Work.
    “Grant this mercy, O Lord, we beseech Thee, to Thy servant departed, that he may not receive in punishment the requital of his deeds who in desire did keep Thy will ...”
    As the priest said the final prayers, Gest smiled thinly at his brother, his pale hazel eyes and high cheekbones a perfect mirror of Simon’s own, yet somehow bearing an air of superiority and entitlement that set him apart. His black coat looked expensive and Simon was suddenly aware of his own threadbare clothing. At a superficial level, they were identical twins, but Simon had always felt like a pale imitation, a watery reflection of his brother’s bright colour. The old jealousy rekindled within him, a remnant of childhood rivalry, but he tamped it down.
    “May his soul, and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.”
    The gathered crowd responded in prayer and then began to move away from the grave. Simon shook hands and nodded appropriately as people spoke kindly to him of his grandfather. But his eyes kept straying to Gest, who stood silently by the grave, his taut energy repelling any who thought to approach him. Finally, when the last of the mourners had left, Simon walked to his brother’s side and they stood looking into the pit, a reminder of where all must eventually rest.
    “Why now?” Simon asked, his voice clipped, almost breaking.
    Gest looked at him, his cold eyes serpent-like.
    “He sent me a letter asking me to come. Said he had something for me, something you were unwilling to take to its conclusion. So, where is it?”
    Gest put his hand on Simon’s arm, the strength in his grip communicating his intent. Simon remembered the games of their youth, how his bruises and broken bones were always blamed on clumsiness, how Gest had been praised for caring for his little brother, the weaker twin, the slower twin, the twin less blessed. But that hand was still able to crush and dominate, as it always had done, and Simon flinched, feeling the years peel away.
    “It’s back at the house.”
    ———
    The mansion would have been opulent once, but its grandeur had faded through many years of neglect. Gest strode into the dark entrance hall, his quick steps taking him into dusty rooms the brothers had run through together as children, hiding amongst the towering bookcases, their palaces of imagination.
    “It really hasn’t changed much,” he said. “Seriously Si, how have you managed to live in this gloomy place for so long?”
    Simon watched his brother’s mercurial movements, the confidence in his stride, and recognized that he had ever been the saturnine twin, the dark side to Gest’s golden sun.
    “I’ve been helping Grandfather,” he replied. “You know how much his research meant to him, and now to me.”
    Gest laughed contemptuously, and Simon felt his years of intellectual pursuit dismissed in a heartbeat. He had heard rumours of how his brother had spent the last twelve years, his string of women and exotic travels funded